It was July 1977; I just turned 18 years old. For most kids my age it was time for proms and enjoying the last summer before going to college. For some that might be a milestone, for me it meant that I was now walking on the thinnest of ice. I was now old enough to be charged as an adult for any crimes I would commit from this day forward.

“SHIT SHIT SHIT, I’m going to be late. I hate being late when I have to meet him, “I was thinking to myself. I was walking fast, maybe sort of running actually. I had to meet Mr. J. That’s what everybody called him. I remember his real name but it doesn’t matter now so we’ll stick with Mr. J. He was this big drug dealer in our neighborhood. He always had pot, coke, smack, if you could name it Mr. J sold it. He never actually dealt drugs himself. He always had younger guys carrying and selling drugs for him. I was one of those younger guys, and right now I was late for a meeting with Mr. J, shit I hate being late. It was around 3pm and it was hot and sticky today.

Just a few days had passed since the great blackout of 1977 in New York City. The entire city was without power. Every traffic light, every store, and every single city power was out for more than 24 hours. There were over 1,000 fires set by looters and rioters. It was also The Summer of Sam. Sam was this physco nutjob running around shooting and killing lovers while they were kissing in their parked cars. Crazy, crazy shit happened that summer.

The day after the blackout me and this buddy of mine named Ray made these t-shirts that said “I Survived the 1977 NYC Blackout”. We made them in all sizes and colors, Ray and I sold a shitload of theses shirts at $5.00 a piece. My day started like this; Mr. J said I had to go handle this big pot delivery coming into the bus terminal. I figured no problem; I’ll just go to midtown Manhattan and sell some t- shirts while I wait for the bus to come in. I sold a lot of shirts that day and still had a bunch of them stuffed in these two brown paper bags when I went to meet the pot delivery. I hustled over to The Port Authority bus terminal at 42nd Street and 8th Ave to meet the courier. After the exchange I went into the terminal bathroom and put the pot in the bottom of my shopping bags and the t-shirts of top of the pot. I then took the A train from 42nd Street to Dyckman Street, where I was to meet Mr. J and his boyfriend. I had always been a good solider for Mr. J. But there was never a good reason to be late. Especially today, today I had a big delivery. In each paper bag I had about 5 pounds of Columbian Gold, the finest and “sweetest smoking herb you ever had.”

I got off the subway train and was walking up Broadway, I was almost at the corner now and I could see Mr. J leaning up against his big black Cadillac. Even from across the street I could see his smiling eyes. He knew that I had the good stuff and my bags were worth a whole lot of money to him.

I was about to cross the street when the following events unfolded right before my eyes. I could actually see everything taking place out of the corner of my eye as I stepped off the sidewalk and into the street.

I saw the big green city bus.

I saw the small car in front of the big bus.

And I even saw the cop car that was slowly driving behind the big bus, the cop driving was actually looking right at me.

Then it all happened so fast. The small car in front of the green city bus slammed on his brakes in an attempt to pull into a parking spot. The city bus didn’t have a chance to stop and slammed into the small car. The bus “crushed” the little car into some other parked cars and right behind the bus was that cop car. The cop car screeches to a stop just barely missing the back of the bus. The impact of the bus and car, the screeching tires from the cop and the image of me almost getting hit by something halted me in my tracks. I didn’t move a muscle, I should have but I didn’t.

Less than 50 yards away and right across the street looking at me was Mr. J.

Less than 5 yards away from me was this traffic accident.

It suddenly occurred to me that I’m the only person on the street here. I was the single, one and only fucking person on that very corner at that very moment. The cop that was driving and staring at me just moments ago gets out of his car. With his hat in one hand and his other hand scratching his head he sees me trying to indiscreetly cross the street behind his cop car with my two bags of some pot and t-shirts. He runs over and stands in front of me and starts babbling about how, “I WAS THE ONLY GODDAMN WITNESS.”

So there I was standing in the middle of this car accident talking with this cop with 10 freaking pounds of the “sweetest smoking herb” you ever tasted under some t-shirts in paper shopping bags. SHIT SHIT SHIT.

I could see Mr. J waving his hands and trying to get me to walk away, but the goddamn cop was saying “Hold on a second there son, we’re going to need you to write down what you saw.” I was like “Officer I got to go, I’m late, and I can’t hang around.” The other cop gets out of the car and yells “Just put him in the car, we’ll get his statement down at the station.” I had no choice but to get into the police car or I would be risking the cops getting suspicious. Worse yet, if I ran they would start chasing me and I wasn’t going to get too far with my bags. So I got into the car and off we go, as I look out the rear patrol car window I see Mr. J screaming and waving his arms.

There was nothing I could do, nothing.

Back in the 70’s pot was pretty common. The cops didn’t have drug dogs walking around all the time like they do now. Besides the stuff I as carrying was professionally wrapped and packaged. This wasn’t some amateur operation, Mr.J and his connections took their pot business very serious. I was one of 2 dozens guys that picked up for him on a weekly basis. There were a lot of people who would have trouble seeing me getting into a cop car with their merchandise.

We get to the 34th Precinct police station a place I had been so many times I couldn’t begin to count. The cop tells me to sit on a wooden bench by the front desk and says” don’t worry kid we’ll get you back home with your groceries before you know it.”

So there I sit on this bench in the middle of the goddamn police station AND to make matters worse it’s the middle of a goddamn shift change. There had to be dozens and dozens of cops walking around, and here I sit with 10 pounds of “the sweetest smoking herb you ever had” tucked between my legs.

I’m sitting there for 10 minutes before finally the same cop comes over, sits down next to me on the wooden bench to take my statement of the accident.

“Remember the car accident?” He asks.

“Yes officer I do remember”, I reply.

He asks me “so what exactly did you see?”

Who do you think was at fault? BLAH BLAH BLAH.

He had this clipboard with a sheet of paper with lines on it resembling the intersection. He is talking and making little cars and city buses in his drawing. His eyes were looking downward at the clipboard, it was at this moment that he looks at my shopping bags and says, and “Hey what’s that in your shopping bag? Are those t-shirts? He yanks the top one out of my bag before I could react and he holds it up to look at the writing. “These are great shirts kid; do you have a green one in extra large?”

I’m freaking dying here as this cop starts reaching in my bag grabbing t-shirts. Before you know it, other cops that are walking by see this happening and they’re stopping and saying, “hey nice t-shirts.” Another cop asks me, “Do you have a red one?” “I have a son and a daughter do you have any small sizes?” The cop sitting on the bench with me starts to reach into my bags to sort thru the t-shirts. I barked at him,” I got it for you, I’ll get it, here you go, you want a blue one?”

I’M FREAKING DYING OVER HERE

This goes on for what seemed like forever and finally everyone that wants a shirt gets a shirt (and hell yeah I chargedthem for the shirts, $5 bucks each).

I finally sell the last shirt to the last freaking cop in that goddamn police station. I lean back against the wooden bench, “Whew that was close.” I look down at my paper bags and I swear to god there must have been only a ½ dozen t-shirts left on each pile of pot in each bag.

One more freaking “cop t-shirt rush” and they would have seen “the sweetest smoking herb you ever had.” We finish up the accident interview and the cop says to me, “thanks for helping out kid, let me give you a ride back to your neighborhood.” I’m like “no, no I’m alright I’ll hop in a cab or take the bus really officer it’s no problem.”

He’s like, “no way, it’s the least I can do since you helped us.”

So once again I climb into a police car with my two bags of t-shirts and the “sweetest smoking herb you ever had.” We get back to same intersection where all this just started a few hours ago. And low and behold, still leaning against his big black caddy is Mr. J. This time he’s not smiling, he’s got this real pissed off look on his face like I was a rat or something. Not to mention here I am bringing the cops right to his feet.

Never happen, because I’m no rat and I would never ever skip out on anyone I was doing business with. I finally cross the street to him and I tell him everything that happened. I was waiting for him to pull out a gun and smack the shit out of me but instead he starts laughing, pats me on the head and says “get in the car little dude, let’s get the fuck out of here.” We drive back to his house and we get stoned right until the morning, then I lock myself in the back bedroom so I can sleep in peace. He has a big house and lots of people are always coming and going so he gave this back bedroom to me and another buddy so we could lock it from the inside while we sleep, but that is another story for another time.

We are inside and still the storm has its way with us- Not afraid are we having weathered storms before – Yet this one seems to be of a more personal nature – It seems as if this one has a path, a direction, a mission – it is in itself a vein to which we must accept just as we accept the now evaporating air we struggle to breath – To not be terrified and alarmed right now would be a mistake – The fact that this storm is inside and not of the exterior norm, is frightening – The very color of our blood has become not blue or red but black – The designs of who we are or who we were have been molded and melted into something too vulgar to see or touch – This is the moment that all dread of and some dream about- When everything you knew or thought you knew to be true is now slowly and surely leaving with the storms windy current – Say goodbye to love, hope and life – say hello to disbelief, terror and pain – NOW run to escape – OR wait and overcome- your choice – I’ve made mine…

The two men never saw each other before; yet they each knew the other one existed and that someday they would meet.

THEN WHAT?

Just as expected Agent Dexter had gotten the phone call in the middle of the day, the caller said for him to retrieve an envelope from the usual spot, it would contain the information about the assignment aka The Mark.

Agent Dexter put on his favorite black baseball cap and went down to the post office store down the street from the hotel where he rented his room by the week. The postal clerk working the counter with the yellow golf shirt never looked up at him; he was talking on his cell phone, probably to his girlfriend or one of his golf buddies, Agent Dexter thought to himself as he walked past him over to the mailboxes.

The envelope was a little bigger than normal; he opened it up as he walked out of the store. As he was shuffling thru the contents a small cassette tape fell to the street. He looked around to see if anyone on the street had noticed, “Good, no one saw anything,” he thought. He looked at the tape and put it, along with the papers back into the envelope. He then tucked it securely under his arm and walked back to his room.

The lobby of his hotel was empty as usual, that was one of the reasons why he liked this place, no one here cared about anyone else He could come and go without attracting any attention.

He walked past the elevator towards the door for the stairwell; he would never take the elevator, elevators were a trap if he ever saw one.

Two steps at a time that’s how he liked to do it, it kept him hard and quick and in shape, quite often his line of work demanded that he be athletic and have stamina. He reached the door to his hotel room and took a moment to check and make sure the little piece of string he had wedged into the door hinge was still there, if it wasn’t then that meant his door had been opened while he was away. You always, always had to be careful in his line of work.

Good it was still there, he slipped his key into the door opened it quickly and stepped inside his neatly kept room. He always kept things neat, easy to pick up and go quickly if the need arose. You never know when you might have to leave town in a moment’s notice to do an assignment. He dumped out the contents of the envelope; spread out the papers, photos, the cash and the cassette tape onto his bed. Looking at the cash he smiled and reached down under his bed and pulled out his duffel bag, he put the cash in the inside pocket and zipped it closed. He sat back and looked at the photos of his target; The Mark was young and pretty, very pretty.

Meanwhile…

Agent Jones was talking on the phone when that rude dude with the black baseball hat walked past him again without as much as a nod hello. The rude dude went to his mailbox, got an envelope and walked outside the post office. Then the “IDIOT” dropped something on the street right outside his store. He was watching this all take place while listening to the caller on his phone telling him about his latest mark.

Agent Jones had been in this business a long time and he knew that there was competition out there. He never actually met the competition but he knew that day would soon come. The caller told him to go and get the envelope with the new mission information in it.

Agent Jones took the “out for lunch” sign from under the counter and placed it on the door. He went to get his envelope and then he hurried to the back office, closed and locked the door. He sat at his desk and turned the little lamp on and opened his envelope. The envelope had the usual photos of the mark, this one was young and pretty too. The upfront money that he always insisted and a cassette tape. The note inside instructed him to play the tape at the usual time during the mission. He reached under his desk and took out his duffel bag, placed the information in it and left the store, as he closed the door behind him he turned the sign around so it read “closed for the day.”

Agent Jones walked to his parked car and got in, he turned the key, and gunned the engine a little, that sounds nice, it is important to have a good fast automobile in this line of work. He had handpicked this car partly because of the power and handling, but he also really liked that is was painted completely black.

He must have been thinking of the mission and his driving when he pulled out of the garage. He was almost side swiped by some asshole in a red two seat convertible. He double checked to make sure all other idiots were gone and turned out of the parking garage and into the street where he became just another driver to everyone else.

Meanwhile…

Agent Dexter had memorized the photos of the mark, he remembered every line on her face, how she looked when she smiled and even her hair style, all this had become engrained in his memory. He took the photos and burned them in the trash can back in his hotel room. Always always get rid of anything that might incriminate him, he was a smart thinker.

He picked up his duffel bag and opened his room door; before he closed it he placed the string in the door hinge like he does every time he leaves his room. He took the stairs to the lobby two at a time and sprinted out thru the lobby like a ghost, he wouldn’t be back till much later and it was best not to attract any attention as to what time he was leaving the hotel.

Agent Dexter had a small red convertible car parked at the end of the street, he got in turned the key and smiled as the engine purred to life, and he shifted into gear and pulled out into traffic. He was tuning in the car stereo when he suddenly had to swerve hard to the left to avoid the idiot in the black car coming out of some underground parking lot, IDIOT!

Agent Jones got out the envelope and looked at the directions to where the mark lived. The address was a suburban home in a quiet section of town, perfect, these were always the easiest assignments, and best yet was that these Marks never saw him coming.

Agent Dexter drove out of the city towards the suburbs, he had written the address on his hand when he had burned the directions along with the photos in his hotel room, very smart of him, and he was pleased with himself today.

Agent Jones read his directions which said to take a left off the highway and a right onto Main Street, go ½ mile and turn left on Peachtree lane then right on Cobble Place to number 37 Cobble Place. That would be where the mark lived, easy enough, right?

Agent Dexter was going a little too fast down Main Street and he almost sped past a police car, he started sweating a lot and he wiped his hand on his forehead to catch the sweat, luckily the cop in the car was reading a newspaper and he was able to speed by unnoticed.

He made a right turn on Peachtree Lane and started looking for Cobble Place, he turned his hand over to look at the house number, OH NO, his hand, the sweat, he must have wiped it on his forehead by accident. I’ll pull over, no, no there’s no time, I don’t have time. He started to panic and reached for his duffel bag when his eyes caught his reflection in the rearview mirror. Holy crap, there it was, the house number was still on his forehead, it must have smudged on there when he sped past the cop and he wiped his brow.

Meanwhile…

Agent Jones was pulling down Cobble Place reading the house numbers, 29, 32, 33.

Agent Dexter was coming down Cobble Place at the exact same moment. He was looking at his head in the mirror for the house number, 35, no 39, aawwww, 37, 37 that’s it number 37.

He almost crashed right into the black car coming the other way, IDIOT he’s not even looking.

Agent Jones saw number 37 and drove past a few more houses so he could park discreetly and walk to the mark’s address without attracting attention.

Agent Dexter pulled right up in front of house number 37 and parked his car; he took a moment to wipe the black marker with the house number from his forehead. He got out of his car with the tape and a radio to play the tape in; he put on his wig and glasses on and stood for a moment to look around and make sure he wasn’t being watched.

Agent Jones was standing next to his car looking into the mirror and adjusting his hat with the wig in it and he was putting some makeup on his face as quick as he could.

The two men never saw each other.

The birthday party was in full swing when the doorbell rang, Sally and her sister both heard the doorbell at the same time, and they ran as fast as they could to the door. Sally the birthday girl got there first, she was in her favorite dress, and she really did look pretty. She opened the door and looked at the man in the doorway with the makeup and the radio in his hand; she stepped back a little when she saw the stranger reach into his duffel bag. She watched as he slowly pulled out the cassette tape and inserted it into the little boom box. There was a moment between them when their eyes met, Agent Dexter lived for this moment, the marks never knew what was coming, and it was exhilarating to him.

He put the tape in and pressed the play button.

Meanwhile…

Agent Jones could see someone in the doorway looking at the mark, he tried to get their attention but it was too late, he could see the agent from the other company leaning over to play the tape. He was too late.

Agent Dexter pressed play and the music started.

“Happy Happy Birthday, Happy Happy Day, I hope its a great one in each and every way.

Agent Dexter started dancing in the doorway for the little girl.

The Mark squealed in delight and said,” Mommy mommy look it’s aclown, oh mommy I love clowns,” thank you so much. This is the best birthday ever.

Agent Dexter smiled back at the little girl, he loved this job, he really did.

One day a friend and I were talking about family, family love and family values. Our conversation turned towards mothers, and as always when we speak of mothers we speak of love, we speak about respect.

My friend went on to share with me a fable he heard. A tale, about paying homage to our mothers.

The fable goes like this;

There was a man who made a pilgrimage to Mecca. He traveled over 500 miles from his small village to the holy site. Once he was at this holy place he then spent the required 5 days walking around the shrine in the center of the site. This man not only walked the 5 days but he carried on his back his aged invalid mother for the entire 5 days so she too could pray. After the 5 days had passed the man told another worshiper about his wondrous act of honoring his mother.

The other mans response was; “you could have carried your mother on your back all the way from your village, for the full 5 days and all the way back the 500 miles home hopping on one leg and you still wouldn’t come close to honoring her as she so rightly deserves.”

I found this fable very profound. This story was inspired by that fable.

Please enjoy.

MY FIRST LOVE

“I’m over here Kahn,” called Pearl from across the grand hall. Kahn smiled and turned towards the sound of her voice. It was a sound, that from the first moment he heard it, he knew he would love her forever.

“I’m coming Pearl, I’m coming,” he called back as he made his way through the throngs of people passing him. She too was weaving in and out of the crowd. She reached her hand through some of them. Kahn reached for her. He took her hand in his. He smiled as he felt her grip, she leaned in and Whispered, “come outside with me.” Like children with a devilish secret they sneaked past everyone and found a secluded spot outside the grand hall.

“I just came from the doctor, I have the results Kahn,” she squealed. Kahn looked into Pearl’s eyes. He knew at that very moment their lives would be changed forever. Pearl shrieked, “We’re pregnant Kahn, we’re really really pregnant. Twins Kahn, one little girl and one little boy.” They were holding hands and they started jumping up and down in circles. Suddenly Kahn stopped and said,” Pearl you shouldn’t be jumping like this in your condition. You need to be careful for now on.”

“Oh, Kahn, she said you’re going to be a wonderful daddy, I love you.”

MONTH 3

Pearl was getting dressed as Kahn came up to her, kissed her tummy and said,” look at my babies.” Pearl smiled as her husband lifted his head and softly kissed her on the lips. “I’ll start breakfast,” he said as he scooted past her and into the kitchen. Pearl came in and satin her chair while Kahn served their meal. He asked Pearl to say their morning prayer. They held hands and bowed their heads as she gently spoke the words. Kahn was in absolute bliss as he listened to both the prayer and the sound of his beautiful wife’s voice.

MONTH 6

“So far, everything looks normal with your babies.” The doctor started but, I am concerned with that swelling on your throat Pearl.” She had been feeling sore for awhile now. “Let’s set up for some tests over the next few weeks, okay Pearl, I want to stay ahead of any complications,” said the doctor.

Later that evening as Kahn slept. Pearl wept silently. She had always wanted to be a mother and now suddenly this mysterious illness might take that away from her and Kahn.

MONTH 7

“Well Pearl, the doctor started, I’m afraid the tests are correct. That swelling is affecting your bodies immune system. Based on all the samples we’ve taken from your family it appears we do not have a match. We need a compatible match for your anti-bodies. You haven’t much time left. You should consider and early delivery of your son and your daughter.

“How long has she got doctor?,” Kahn asked through his tears. “It could be a few months or a few weeks. I’m sorry Pearl, unless we find a donor with the right anti-bodies soon well…I’m sorry really I am.”

Pearl spent the next morning sitting alone in the nursery. She was rocking in a chair as she rubbed her swollen belly. “No matter what happens my children. Know this I will always be your mommy. I will always love you, oh and one more thing, take it easy on your daddy, okay?” Pearl said as a tear rolled down her check, landing on her belly.

MONTH 8

It had been 2 weeks since the doctor ran some additional tests on Pearl and the twins. She and Kahn sat anxiously in his office awaiting the results.

Finally, the doctor came in and sat at his desk across from them.

“Pearl, Kahn, I have the results of the tests we did. It appears that your unborn son has the exact anti-bodies needed to save your life Pearl. Further tests have also revealed that your son is actually sending these anti-bodies into your system. Your daughter is perfectly fine and you Pearl, you are improving considerably.” The young couple embraced each other momentarily relieved.

“But, the doctor began; there is bad news as well. I’m sorry to say, as your son is saving your life, he is killing himself Pearl. He will most likely not live till birth. I cannot explain how or why. But your unborn son is literally sacrificing his life to save yours.”